Images without words – The life of the County Cork Sheepdog.
The Sheepdog
County Cork
Ireland
Nigel Borrington
The Manor Farm, By Edward Thomas
On the Farm
Irish landscapes
Nigel Borrington
The rock-like mud unfroze a little and rills
Ran and sparkled down each side of the road
Under the catkins wagging in the hedge.
But earth would have her sleep out, spite of the sun;
Nor did I value that thin glilding beam
More than a pretty February thing
Till I came down to the old Manor Farm,
And church and yew-tree opposite, in age
Its equals and in size. The church and yew
And farmhouse slept slept in a Sunday silentness.
The air raised not a straw. The steep farm roof,
With tiles duskily glowing, entertained
The mid-day sun; and up and down the roof
White pigeons nestled. There was no sound but one.
Three cart-horses were looking over a gate
Drowsily through their forelocks, swishing their tails
Against a fly, a solitary fly.
The Winter’s cheek flushed as if he had drained
Spring, Summer, and Autumn at a drought
And smiled quietly. But ’twas not Winter—
Rather a season of bliss unchangeable
Awakened from farm and church where it had lain
Safe under tile and thatch for ages since
This country, Old already, was called Happy.
Edward Thomas
The Sheep Under the Snow by William Henry Gill
The Sheep Under the Snow
by William Henry Gill
Irish Landscapes
Nigel Borrington
The Sheep Under the Snow
by William Henry Gill
The snow’s on the mountains,
The snow’s in the gill,
My sheep they have wandered
All over the hill;
Uprise then, my shepherds,
With haste let us go
Where my sheep are all buried
Deep under the snow.
The dogs in the haggard
Are barking aloud,
At the moon, as she struggles
From under the cloud.
Uprise then, my shepherds,
With haste let us go
Where my sheep are all buried
Deep under the snow.
Take staves, and take lanterns,
Put on your carranes;
We’ll hunt on the mountains,
We’ll hunt in the plains.
Uprise then, my shepherds,
With haste let us go
Where my sheep are all buried
Deep under the snow.
Then up rose those shepherds,
With haste they did go
Where the sheep lay all buried
Deep under the snow;
They sought them with sorrow,
They sought them with dread,
And they found them at last;—
But the sheep were all dead!
Its A Sheeps Soul, Poem By : fayaz bhat
Its A Sheeps Soul
By : fayaz bhat
O cherisher! Of hairy goats, rocky ridges,
Still vales and white-woolen sheep;
Of my love, of melodies, of muses, of her beau;
It’s the soul of a forgotten sheep
Looking for her poor pastor, his white drove
And, the rest in shade;
Or ‘tis a shepherd, a shepherdess more,
Singing in solitude, rhyme, underneath a tree
In the relaxed midday of jubilant springs,
Ballads, lounged beside the sitting slept sheep.
Or; ‘tis that boy in the wild highs
Playing floyera reclined on the mossy rock—
Goats bleat and forget to graze;
Waking up the beasts, waking up the breeze,
Eared by the deer, cheered by the crows,
’lauded by the woods, echoed by the vale.
Free her! Guide her! For it says so sweet:
My abode’s among the weeds,
The wild flowers grow, the stony meads live.
Landscape Images of County Kilkenny , a winters day on the sheep farm.
Images of County Kilkenny
Sheep farm in the winter
Nigel Borrington
These late winters day have been full of early morning mist and fog, many of the farmers keep their animals enclosed in barns or walled yards at this time of year.
I came across this great scene last weekend while out walking in the mist , an old farm house and its yard used these days for this very function.
Its Friday and Its 5 mins to 5pm, So this weekend get outside and take some pictures :)
Its the weekend so get outside
Landscape Photography by Nigel Borrington
Have a great weekend everyone , I hope you manage to get out side if you possibly can !!! 🙂 🙂
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January 23, 2015 | Categories: Comment, Gallery, Images for the weekend, Landscape | Tags: etc..., Geting outside, Its the weekend, Landscape Photography, mental health, Nigel Borrington, relaxation, Sheep, weekend walks | 4 Comments